


Five times Bossuet's luck prevented him from confessing his feelings (and one time it didn't, but it was almost too late)

by WilwyWaylan



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, but sad-ish ending, but very Joly-and-Bossuet centric, contains dorks, contains true pieces of Paris monuments, just random appearances from Grantaire and Bahorel, mostly stupid fluff, well it's canon era so of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21838042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilwyWaylan/pseuds/WilwyWaylan
Summary: Bossuet has something very important to tell Joly. Unfortunately, it seems that his luck doesn't want to let him.
Relationships: Joly/Bossuet Laigle
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23
Collections: Les Mis Holiday Exchange (2019)





	Five times Bossuet's luck prevented him from confessing his feelings (and one time it didn't, but it was almost too late)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacestationtrustfund](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacestationtrustfund/gifts).



> I hope you'll like it; It's very silly, but it contains :  
> \- cats  
> \- a pun  
> \- landmarks of Paris  
> \- some history  
> \- and books !  
> Have a good read !

Waking up has always been kind of an adventure for Bossuet. Not that he's always galivanting here and there, of course, he's not that kind of guy. But being more or less homeless, cruising from couch to mattress and owing his lodgings to his friends' good will tend to make one feel quite disoriented. Usually, several minutes in the morning are spent locating his surroundings, remembering where he slept that night, who's in the room, flat or house with him, and if he'd better slip out unexpected, or he can go and join his host around the breakfast table. 

In an unusual display of luck for him, he's been living more or less regularly with Joly for a few weeks now. His beloved friend, learning about his predicament, has immediatly taken him under his proverbial wing. Bossuet has expected him to throw a mattress on the floor and let him sleep there (which he would have been very grateful for, one may not complain to one being offered a roof and a dry place to stay). But when asked about it, Joly has screamed that it wouldn't do, that sleeping on the ground would lead him to catch his death, drafts could kill him, what kind of person would he be if he left his best friend in such a dire situation ? So, to Bossuet's greatest surprise, he offered him, not another bed since his flat was quite small, but a space on his own bed. 

Bossuet has been eternally grateful, of course, for this act of generosity, as for this occasion to spend more time with Joly, close to him. Living with him, spending all the time he can with him. And, even better, Joly has seemed delighted to do the same, seeking him, sitting with him to work on his lessons, even asking for his help in reviewing them. It doesn't help his feelings, which have been in shambles since he met Joly. He really wants to do something, act on those strange feelings, move to a next step, whichever that next step is, but he's not sure how he's going to be recieved. 

He doesn't mind, of course. Spending so much time with Joly is a gift in itself, and he'll die happy even if they stay as they are now. But sometimes, in the middle of the night, as he's trying to fall asleep and Joly is just inches away from him, it comes back to gnaw at his mind. He could turn over, wrap his arms around Joly, pretend that it's only sleep moving him and nothing more. But Joly would surely wake up, his sleep as fragile as it is, and it wouldn't be fair to him to just... act this way. Joly deserves honesty, not these games. 

As they are laying side by side, Joly fast asleep beside him, his breath just a small noise in the night, Bossuet silently makes himself a promise : he's giving himself one month to decide what to do and act on it. He doesn't want to hurt Joly or push him in a position he wouldn't like, but he at least wants to get everything out in the open. Tell him the truth on his feelings, and let him decide if he wants to reciprocate them, stay as they are, or if he'd rather have him take some distance. The decision will be all Joly's, but he'll need to act so Joly can take it, and he needs to be perfectly honest with him. And maybe with luck, it'll be alright. Or rather, despite his bad luck.

1\. 

Sleeping in Joly's bed might be enjoyable on paper, especially with the proximity of one small medecine student, but no one told Bossuet that sometimes, reality was far from one's fantasy. Because Joly, as adorable as he is, is a chore to sleep with. Not only does he mutters and moves, but he too flails and kicks. After a few nights, Bossuet's legs are covered with bruises. There's too his weird habit of moving his bed every other day to better align it with the magnetic field or something, which means that Bossuet can't even lean against the wall to get a little more space or support. Most of the time, he wakes up when he hits the floor and has to climb back up under Joly's bemused eyes. 

This morning, strangely, he doesn't wake when he's kicked down or pushed or hit on the nose (it's always on the nose), but by the whole room moving and trembling around him. An earthquake ? Is the house falling apart ? Honestly, that one would be a first, even with his luck. He opens his eyes. Weird, the ceiling above him is still sound and solid. Then what...? He looks down, at the foot of the bed, where Joly is pushing on the frame. Ineffectively, one might add. 

\- What's wrong, Joly-coeur ? he asks, rubbing his still sleepy eyes.

Joly's head shoots up. 

\- Oh, I didn't think you'd be awake, and I've realized that my bed was out of alignement so I figured I could put it back into place before you awakening, so it wouldn't trouble the rest of your sleep. Did I wake you up ? Apologies !

\- It's fine, Bossuet immediatly reassures him. I was done with my night anyway. Do you need help ?

\- I don't want to bother you...

\- Nonsense !

Bossuet has already jumped down the bed and has taken his place. It's way easier without him on the bed, and he can provide a way stronger push than Joly with his bad leg. It takes a few minutes of "more to the left" and "maybe a little bit to the right", but finally, Joly is pleased with the new emplacement. Bossuet doesn't say anything, despite the fact that it now lays in the middle of the room, with little space to go around and do anything else than sleep. But it's Joly's bed, and what he says goes. He'll do with it.

They sit at the table for breakfast. It's, if not scarce, at least rather simple. A few pieces of fruit, some bread, some butter, the rest of milk they didn't finish last evening, and which Joly has sniffed and tasted several times to check that it was still fresh. Bossuet would love to go out to eat, but Joly doesn't want to when he has lessons in the morning. He's reviewing his notes from the last, trying to juggle his paper and the butter without mixing one with the other. Bossuet takes the butter and the knife from his hand, starts spreading it on a slice of bread, puts in back in his hand. Joly doesn't look up, but he smiles, and Bossuet's heart starts beating faster. It's nothing special, though, Joly is sitting on his chair, half-dressed, reading furiously, munching on his bread. His hair is not combed, there's no delicate ray of sunshine illuminating him, he doesn't look out of a painting, but it doesn't matter. It's Joly in a casual situation, and it's perfect.

 _This is it_ , Bossuet thinks. _Go for it, do something_. He'll start by telling him, he decides. Just tell him his feelings, maybe with a hand on his arm so he knows that he isn't joking around, and see where it leads them. 

\- Joly-coeur... he starts.

Joly jumps from his chair as if stung by a bee, startling him.

\- I'm late ! he cries.

\- What ? 

\- I'm late ! My lesson ! It's going to start !

He runs through the flat, trying to finish to get dressed and gather what he needs at the same time. Bossuet automatically gets up and help him, piling the papers and putting them carefully into the satchel. He flattens Joly's hair a little while he puts his shoes on, gives him his cane and his hat. Joly runs outside with a "goodbye !" hastily thrown over his shoulder, leaving Bossuet to close the door. 

Bossuet goes back to the table, shrugs, and sit down to finish his breakfast. There'll be other opportunities.

2\. 

It's a beautiful day, sunny but not too warm, small clouds lazily cross the sky, hiding it from time to time, and Bossuet has decided to take a stroll through the park. He doesn't have anywhere to be today, now that his lessons are finished, and there's time to kill. So why not walk to the medecine faculty and wait for Joly ? He sits down on a bench near the entrance, and keeps himself busy by watching people go on about their lives. It's one of his favourite distractions, and today, since it's sunny, the general mood is almost one of happiness. A few women, mistaking his attention for romantic interest, smile at him, and he smiles back, easily.

Finally, the faculty doors open, leaving way to a flight of students who scatters down the street in all directions. Bossuet gets up, walks to the stairs as Joly carefully makes his way down them. 

\- Hello, Joly-coeur ! 

Joly looks up at him, gives him the smile that makes his heart do that happy little dance. 

\- Bossuet ? What are you doing here ? Is there a problem ?

Knowing his luck, it's a geniune worry. Bossuet quickly reassures him, shaking his head.

\- No, not at all. I'm done with my day, so I figured that I would come here to meet you, and we can go for a little walk before going home, if you feel up to it ?

Joly leans on his bad leg, testing it a little.

\- I think it's fine. Did you have a destination in mind ? 

\- What do you think of the Jardin des Plantes ? The flowers might have started to bloom, and it's quite lovely this time of the year. 

\- That would be nice !

Bossuet takes his satchel, and away they go. The gardens are not that far from the faculty, and it's a nice little walk along the avenue. Bossuet makes sure that Joly is not jostled around, gently pushing or pulling him out of the way, scanning the paving stones to make sure none would make him fall. He knows Joly is not made of sugar and can very well handle himself, but he can't help himself. Especially since Joly had had several bad leg days that ended only two days ago, and he knows that uneven steps can hurt. 

At least, they reach the garden entrance. It's quieter here, and Bossuet relaxes a little. At this time of the day, there aren't too many people in the alleys, just some students passing by as they are, some groups of women strolling between the buildings, parasols resting on their shoulders, their servant knights accompagnying them. Bossuet vaguely thinks that a parasol could be a nice present for Joly, he should think about it. But the sun is not too agressive today, just warm enough to make the walk a very pleasant one, falling on the ground in little dots through the leaves of the trees and drawing pretty patterns

They follow the hedges that limit the zoological garden, onto the french perspective. Joly describes everything they see, from the plants that grow around them, to the trees several centuries old near the gates, to the monkeys pavillion, to the long neck of the giraffe they can see over the hedges even. Bossuet listens to him, drinks his words. He could listen to him all day, talk about everything under the sun. 

They walk again and again in circles, leaving the large alleys for the smaller ones, circling the museum, resting on benches when Joly's leg makes it uncomfortable to walk. The afternoon is dragging lazily, but Bossuet is not in a hurry to get home, and neither is Joly. The clouds are a bit more numerous now, but it's not that bad, they are shielding them from the sun, preventing them from a badly timed sunstroke. 

Suddenly, as they go down the perspective for the third time, Bossuet thinks that the moment might very well be the perfect one to confess his feelings. The quietness of the place, only troubled by the hushed murmures of those walking past them and the muffled sounds of the menagerie, the warmth of the air, the slight breeze carrying the smell of flowers... There might not be a more perfect moment. 

\- Joly-coeur ? Can I tell you something ?

\- Of course ? You can tell me everything you want.

Bossuet stops, turns to face Joly, who does the same. This is it, this is the moment. Except that, before he even opens his mouth, something falls on his nose, something cold. And wet. Another drop of water hits Joly in the eye, another on the hair. The rain starts to pitter-patter on the ground, and on them, getting stronger by the second. Before they can even react, it's pouring down, and they are drenched to the bone. Bossuet grabs Joly's hand, and they run to the nearest gate. Luckily, it's the one facing the Seine, meaning Joly's flat is not too far. 

It takes them ten minutes to get there, during which it rains continuously. They've barely reached the flat that already, Joly has gotten rid of his drenched garments, and he's helping Bossuet out of his. He wraps them both in blankets, puts some water on the stove, a whirlwind of activity moving almost too fast for the eye to follow. 

At last, they are both seated in front of the fireplace, cups full of plant infusions in hand. Water is still dripping from Joly's hair on his blanket, and he's fussing about it, babbling about sickness and the cold, and what about the cholera ? Bossuet does his best to reassure him that one can't catch a bout of cholera through wet hair. Between this, the cold fingers they are trying to warm on their cups, and the bickering that ensues, the moment is gone. But Bossuet is not too sad ; they're still having fun, and there will be other occasions.

3.

On Saturday, neither of them has any lessons, and they decide to get out for breakfast. They stumble out of bed - fall in Bossuet's case - get dressed and head out. It's sunny again, and very pleasant, but Bossuet stays wary. One occasion ruined by an encounter with bad weather is enough. Surely, this wouldn't turn as the last time, right ? He checks the sky as they step out of the house, but there's not the slightest cloud marring the blue. Just a spotless sky, the sun, and nothing else. 

They walk down to the Corinthe, their favourite place to dine. When they come in, Gibelotte waves at them with her free hand.

\- Bonjour, messieurs, she says. Will it be the usual ?

\- You know us, Bossuet answers cheerfully. We can never resist your oysters. Could you find us a nice table by the window ?

She nods, leads them to Bossuet's favourite table. It's on the first floor, near a somewhat large window, and overlooks the street. The view would be better were there not a house a stone's throw from where they are sitting, and they can almost gaze into the bedroom, but it's still nice. Gibelotte brings them a feast of oysters, ham, cheese, bread, and leaves them to their breakfast. They immediatly dive in, enjoying the taste of the fresh oysters and the softness of the still warm bread. 

They chat about the weather, their lessons, the next meeting where Enjolras has mentionned wanting to take their efforts to the next level. He's not yet to the point of planning an uprising, but things are getting a little heated. Bossuet doesn't want to dwell to much on it ; he's part of the group and a convinced member, he'll need no prodding or pushing when it will come to take his place, but it's not something he really wants to think about in this beautiful morning. So he shifts the conversation on a subject he knows Joly will enjoy, namely, their common read of the time, Mr. Hugo's last book. Courfeyrac has provided everyone he could (three people counting Jehan) with copies of Notre-Dame de Paris, and they've been reading it for the past month, discussing it at length when they have time, going over the same arguments, Joly wanting more architecture talk, while Bossuet would rather get more Gringoire because he finds the character amusing.

Time seems to stand still as they chat. Gibelotte brings them more food, and they could spend all morning sitting there, just being together, enjoying the warm air and the quietness. Once again, Bossuet thinks about talking his feelings. The moment is not as perfect as, say, that time in the garden, but it's not bad. One may forgive the presence of oysters on the scene of a declaration if the declaration is heartfelt and has already been interrupted two times. He opens his mouth....

\- I thought I heard the squwaking of an eagle over its preys, and behold, I heard right.

They both turn to the stair where Grantaire has appeared. He's not alone, Bahorel is just behind him, already eyeing the food. Judging by the state of their hair and clothes, they probably spent the night outside having all sorts of fun and are only now coming back to their lodgings, stopping only to get some food. And interrupt the moment, but by now, Bossuet can't even feel a little bummed out. It seems that he'll never be able to confess. However, he doesn't ressent his friends for this, they didn't act out of malice, only friendliness and the prospect of food. He pulls out a chair, offers it to Grantaire, who turns to Bahorel : 

\- See, I told you that the eagle was generous with his food !

\- Move, you oaf. You'll wax the same quality of poetry with your mouth full, but it might save us from hearing it.

He crosses the room, drops on the chair that creaks menacingly under his weight, crosses his ankles and leans back.

\- As for me, after a long night spent defending the good theater against a gaggle of illiterate philistines, I'd accept your offer of food.

Bossuet pushes bread and cheese towards him, the oysters in Grantaire's general direction. They both set to work, while Bahorel treats them to a lively rendition of their night in the theater. Bossuet nods, comments at the right places, marvels at the demonstration of strength, and pushes his plans at the back of his mind. Later, maybe.

4\. 

It's starting to dawn on Bossuet that maybe just waiting for the moment won't help him in the long run. The fault, of course, lies in his bad luck. But when one takes matters in their own hands, one may bypass that bad luck to get the desired outcome. After all, it's not that difficult to create the right situation, is it ? One just needs to take things in consideration. The garden would be a nice touch, but maybe not a garden where the rain can get them. He then remembers the pergola in the garden just around the house. Perfect ! It would shield them from the rain, and the place is quite lovely, with wisteria growing up the rafters and dropping from the roof in heavy purple bunches. Joly will love it, and it's extremely romantic. 

Now, how to convince him to get down there ? Bossuet starts thinking of a plan, before realizing that he doesn't need one. Joly knows him, he knows that it's not an elaborate setting for a cruel joke, and that Bossuet only means to spend a nice time with him and nothing more. And indeed, when he asks Joly if he wants to go down in the garden and read there for a while, Joly answers, enthusiastic :

\- Of course, let's go !

They grab their books, a bottle of wine, and go down in the garden. There's a bench under the pergola, perfectly situated, and they sit there, in amicable silence. Bossuet stares at his book, but the words on the page dance before his eyes, mixing and muddling until they look like some kind of magical formula. As he expected, the place is quiet, shielded from the rain and people's eyes. There's even a cat, walking through the garden. Joly sees it, and tries to coax it to come closer. Bossuet just watches him with fondness as the cat comes closer, sniffing his fingers, then jumps on his knees and lets Joly pet it. It's adorable, the cat purring and kneeding the pants, and Joly's delighted smile as he strokes the stripped fur. He was right, this is really the best setting, and maybe the best moment. 

He's barely opened his mouth, when Joly starts sneezing. And sneezes, and sneezes again. It doesn't seem to want to stop, and he can barely breathe through it. Bossuet grabs him by the arm, tries to lift him, but Joly is almost dead weight. He takes him around the waist, lifts him as he can, and drags him out of the garden. 

It gets a little better once they are out and the cat has ran away, frightened by the noise, but only a little. Joly is still sneezing, albeit a little less frequently, tears pour down his cheeks, and his nose is running like crazy. He hangs on Bossuet's arm like it's a lifeline. Bossuet quickly takes him to the flat, leads him to the bedroom and sets him on the bed. He doesn't know exactly what he needs, so he grabs all the vials he can see and a handful of handkerchiefs. Joly starts rumaging through the bottles, mumbling to himself. Bossuet brings him a cup of water, then sits at the end of the bed. Joly mixes some remedies in the glass, downs it in one go. He leans against the pillows, and after a few seconds, the sneezing finally dies down. 

\- Are you feleling better ? Bossuet asks, pulling the covers on his friend's feet.

\- Better, yes. Thank you for bringing me here.

\- I must apologize, I didn't know that bringing you there...

\- Nonsense, Joly cuts. You couldn't guess that a cat would come, and that I'm allergic to cats, and it would start a reaction.

\- No, but...

\- Also, I've been the one keeping the cat on my lap, and I know very well that I'm allergic. I just couldn't resist...

\- I admit I was a bit scared... I haven't seen you having such a strong reaction since forever. 

Joly lowers his head a little, and Bossuet rushes to add :

\- But it's not your fault ! That cat was adorable, I understand that you couldn't stop yourself. Myself, I would have done the same.

\- Do you ? Joly asks with a small smile.

\- Obviously. And then it would have scratched me to death or something. 

\- What a way to go...

\- Clawed to death, what a cat-astrophe....

Joly laughs a little, but it turns into a cough. 

\- Rest, Joly-coeur. That fit tired you. Here, I'll bring you your book, and we can keep reading, what do you think ?

He puts the blankets correctly on Joly's legs, goes to fetch their books. Joly leaves him some space on the bed, and he sits beside him. Soon, they're both engrossed again in Esmeralda's adventures.

5\. 

This time, everything is planned to a T. The weather will stay nice for all day, there won't be any of the Amis to be around and crash the conversation, no flowers or animals that Joly could be allergic to, no lesson to run to. Nothing will stop him. Very casually, he suggests that they go for a walk again, this time a bit farther from their usual venture, to opt for the Luxembourg garden. After all, it's not that far, they can walk to and from it, and it's a lovely stroll. Joly accepts, of course, always ready for a little promenade. 

The garden is almost as lovely at this time of the year that the Jardin des Plantes. There's less shade, but the perspectives are nice, as is the main pond. They walk along the fence, following the path to the Medicis fountain, then turn towards the palace. 

\- To think, Bossuet sighs, that it was once a jail....

\- A jail ? 

\- Yes, Grantaire told me that this is the place where they were all jailed : Danton, Desmoulins... All of them. They were here until...

He doesn't finish. Those words better stay unsaid. They look at the palace for a moment together in silence, before Bossuet decides to lighten the atmosphere a little. He leads Joly far from the main buildings, towards the orangerie. It's calmer there, less people flocking around it. He can always regret the absence of shade, but this will do. They walk the paths again, Bossuet making sure from time to time that Joly is not limping. But no, he's walking just fine. The sun is shining, the place is quiet, this might just be the moment he's waiting for. 

\- Joly-coeur, I....

Suddenly, someone is screaming - "watch out !". The statue beside him moves - except that it's not moving, it's just the arm that falls. Right on Bossuet's foot. A jolt of pain shoots up his leg. He jumps, but the stone is nailing him to the ground, and he just makes a weird little leap before crumpling on the ground. Joly follows, kneels behind him and tries to free him, but it's way too heavy for him. 

People surround them, someone takes the arm of the statue from his foot, and Joly immediatly sets to work, taking off his boot and checking on the state of his bones. Bossuet groans at the pain, but he stays as still as he can. After a few minutes of poking and prodding, Joly finally declares :

\- You're lucky, you don't have any broken bones. But you're going to need some rest.

\- Lucky me ! I'll be able to stay home all day and sleep!

There's no bitterness in his voice, even with his fifth attempt thwarted by fate. He should have expected it by now. So he just smiles at Joly, who hands him his cane to help him on his feet. Well, foot. Another person comes to his help, and together, they hobble towards the gate. The walk back to the flat is extremely hazardous, they keep bumping on paving stones and people. Their good samaritan walks them to the flat and even helps him up the stairs.

At last, Bossuet is sitting on the bed, his foot carefully wrapped in bandages and set on a cushion, more pillows gathered behind his back. Joly keeps checking on his wound, his temperature, making sure that it's not infected, swelling or hurting too much. 

\- It's alright, Bossuet finally tells him. I assure you ! It almost doesn't hurt.

\- Of course it does ! It's been crushed by a piece of marble, it must hurt ! 

\- I promise....

\- I hope you're not getting blood poisoning. How do you feel ? Faint ? Feverish ? Maybe you do have a fever. Let me check.

He puts his hand on Bossuet's forehead, feeling it here and there. Finally convinced that his friend is not going to drop dead in the five next seconds, he sits back and allows himself to relax. Bossuet smiles at him ; of course it hurts, but he's not going to scare Joly. He'll make do, as he always does. And maybe, he thinks, he should abandon the idea of confessing for a while. It seems that a Higher Power really doesn't want him to open his heart to Joly. He may try later, maybe one day.... when his foot will be healed, at least.

+1.

The commotion of the fight has finally died down, leaving way to a strange kind of quiet. It's not silence, not with people running here and there, patching each other up, carrying furniture and pieces of masonry to strengthen the barricade, or just sitting together and talking in hushed tones. They won a battle earlier, survived an ambush, and it has put them in a glorious mood, but Bossuet knows that it's just a lull in the battle. The national guard won't let them away that easily. They probably won't attack this late, but early in the morning, when the lack of sleep will disminish their reflexes and make it easier to tear the barricade down. 

Bossuet tries to locate Joly around. Earlier, he was trying to help the others, patching wounds and cleaning blood. But everyone seems to be taken care of, and settling here and there for the time being. He's not sitting on the crates forming the barricade, not near the Musain, not with Grantaire inside... He finally locates him on the second floor. Joly is sitting at a table, eyes casted downwards, on the wood plate, but he's in fact looking way past it. He doesn't move, doesn't flinch when Bossuet sits beside him. Bossuet waits a few seconds, then nudges him a little.

\- Joly-coeur ? Are you alright ?

Joly doesn't answer, doesn't even give him the feeling that he heard him. Bossuet looks down, at the hands clutched on his lap. THey are covered with blood, some of it not even completly dry. His fingers twitch slightly, as if he can still feel the wounds. 

Bossuet goes back to the main room in the caffee ; a bit of rummaging gives him a bassinet that he fills with water, and a rag that escaped being torn to shreds for bandages. He brings all of it back to Joly, who hasn't moved an inch. He dips the fabric in the water, then takes one hand in his and starts gently cleaning the blood. The water soon turns pink, but he goes on, wiping first the palms, then the fingers, even around and under the nails. He doesn't stop until Joly's hands are perfectly clean. He makes sure to get rid of the now bloodied water before coming back to sit. This time, Joly moves slightly. 

\- I've.... is all he managed to say before breaking down.

Bossuet loops an arm around his shoulder and pulls him a little closer to him, taking Joly's hand in his free one. They stay like that, just breathing in the comfort to be together. Joly is warm against him, his breath coming low and calm now that his hands aren't covered in blood anymore. It's peaceful, but the low glow of the torches outside, the low clamour in the street and the rumbling they can hear from time to time leaves no mistake : this is just a lull in the battle. And it doesn't bode well for them.

\- Can I tell you something ?

The words jumped out of him almost without his consent. It's far from the ideal moment he dreamed of, but as the night went on, it became more and more evident that their chances of escaping the barricade alive are getting thinner by the minute. 

Joly moves slightly, to look at him as he lays on his shoulder. 

\- What is it ? 

His voice is small and strained, laced with exhaustion, but they probably all feel the same. 

\- Joly-coeur.... I think this is going to sound weird, and maybe you'll hate me for it, but I need to tell you. This is not something I'd want to take with me when we... 

Joly shivers a little.

\- You sound so somber.... he whispers. What is it ? Are you hurt ? Did they shoot you ? 

\- No, don't worry. It's just.... something I've wanted to tell you for a long time. I've tried, but each time, it seemed that fate didn't want me to. But now, we don't have that much time left, and...

\- What is it ? Joly cuts a little stronger. 

\- Please, I beg you of not being hurt or scared away by my words. Joly-coeur... I've been around you for several years now, and those years have certainly been the happiest in my life. 

\- I've been happy with you too, really happy...

\- And during those years, I've felt... stronger and stronger for you. My feelings have... I must confess, they have grown way over what one feels for his best friend, and... Joly-coeur, please forgive me from burdening with this at this time but... I think I love you. 

A heavy silence follows his phrase. The sounds outside, wood scrapping, people singing, becomes more evident. Bossuet doesn't dare saying anything, asking for an answer, or even moving, he doesn't want to risk making things worse in any way. Joly is not answering, and it ties his stomach in knots. But at least he's not running away, so there's that ? He's already pushing his luck. If the night can just end with Joly resting on his shoulder, it's already way more than what he's asking for. 

But Joly moves, away from him. He tries not to let it hurt too much, but the pain that shots through his heart is akin to that caused by a bullet. At least, he thinks bitterly, he won't be heartbroken for too long. 

\- How long have you been wanting to tell me ? Joly asks softly.

Bossuet snaps back to the conversation at hand, trying not to let hope jump back at him.

\- I.... I've felt that way for a long time, but I've only tried since.... January ? February, maybe. Not earlier. I... may have been scared of... I didn't want to scare you away.

\- And each time....

\- Each time, my masterful plans were thwarted. The weather, a cat, the statue... They were all tools of fate made to stop me. 

\- The statue.... you wanted to tell me then ?

\- And even before. The statue was... kind of a last straw. I've planned to tell you once my luck would turn, but then, this happened. And so, I didn't want to.... leave with this unsaid. 

\- I wouldn't have wanted you to leave it unsaid.

What ? What did Joly just say ? His ears must play tricks on him. Surely, the shouting of the cannons has damaged them, and now he hears things that don't exist. Except that Joly is looking at him with his eyes so beautiful, and he's not running away. Even better, he's smiling. At him. 

And now he's coming closer. Sitting against him again. Taking his hand. Bossuet is still sure it's a dream he's going to wake up from every second now. But Joly's hand is warm in his, his body is solid against his. He's there, and it's real. 

\- I have strong feelings for you too, Joly confesses. You've been... a fixture in my life, and an anchor. It wouldn't be the same without you... I know it wouldn't, that's kind of a truism. But it would be way less funny, way less distracting. I would be lost without you. 

There are two red marks on his cheeks now, and it's so adorable that Bossuet wants to kiss them both. But he can't move too fast. Joly has described him as good friends, best friends, but there's still bounds and leaps to go. At least one bound and one leap. He'd wait, maybe for another day, but time is running short. 

\- Joly-coeur, he asks after a minute or two of silence, would you... would you allow me to kiss you ? 

He expects Joly to run, or ponder the situation, or even not answer. But he turns to him, immediatly.

\- Would you ? 

\- I've dreamed of it for almost as long as I realized that I... I was in love with you. If you'd allow me, I would. 

Joly smiles at im, and leans closer. And suddenly, he's kissing him. Joly is kissing him. It's different from everything Bossuet ever dared dreaming of, even during the darkest, longest nights. But it's soft, and wonderful, and everything he's ever wanted, so he presses back. He doesn't do anything else, and they part after a few seconds. It's just a small kiss, and he won't have any occasion to get anything else than other kisses like that, but it's the world to him. 

Joly leans against him, and he wraps his arms around him, holding him close. They stay like that, watching the starts light up one by one above the rooves of Paris, simply enjoying each other's presence. They may be dead by tomorrow, but for Bossuet, it almost doesn't matter anymore. He's given his love to Joly, and he'll leave with his, and it's the only thing he's ever wanted to take with him anyway. 


End file.
